Healing the Lion
by PotterIsLove-Hermione
Summary: Her body is thin and frail. She hasn't eaten a proper meal in months. Her arms are riddled in scars that she hides from the world. He has his problems too, but he's well practiced in his disguise. She wants to tame the dragon and he wants to heal the lion.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer, tw, smut warning.

A/N: I've done it! Finally returned to writing and posting fanfiction after 3 or 4 years. Woo hoo! I'm not sure if this even has a stable plot or if I'll finish it, so read at your own risk and I'll do the best I can. I'm not going to write a description explaining the setting. I'll leave my story to do so. If you're looking for smut, hence the M rating, you may have come to the wrong place, but I'm not sure. Only time will tell. I'm rating it M as a precaution. WARNING! There may be dark themes as well, such as self harm, suicidal thoughts, or eating disorders as writing is very therapeutic I've come to realize. I am advertising a trigger warning. Lastly, I do not own Harry Potter and do not partake in the franchise, or merchandise, or affiliation in any way besides being a loyal, avid fan. I'm dedicating the first chapter to the disclaimer and will only add it once as I find writing them to be dull to the readers and tedious to write. So without further ado, here is the beginning to what I hope is a wonderful fanfiction.


	2. Chapter 2

There she sat, perched on the windowsill of the common room of the Head boy and girl. It was a far way down and she wondered how ironic it would be that the emerald grass, which looked so soft, would break such a hard landing. Residing in a high tower was nothing new to her and her thoughts were no stranger. She shook her head, expelling smoke from her lungs in beautiful, swirling motions.

"How doth the bird sing in such harsh winter," she recited sadly in nothing louder than a murmur. She stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it onto the grass, watching it fall many stories. She found herself jealous of the butt falling, gracefully guided by the wind- a thought many others would find odd, if she were to ever voice her options aloud. She knew that was a terrible idea; no one could know her dark secrets.

She found herself with the urge to cry, but being well experienced with her distressing emotions, she fought back and repressed the tears that threatened to surface. She ran her palm through her chestnut curls and sighed heavily. As she did so, she heard the distant mumble, "Victis honor," of the dorm password and footsteps ensued, followed by the dragging of a trunk. She didn't bother to look at who it was. Honestly, she couldn't care less; the war had stripped her of curiosity after experiencing the world's evil atrocities.

"Granger?" A familiar voice had called her name, not of a sardonic, malicious nature, but rather curiosity and strange disbelief.

"Ferret," she retorted, lacking in the sneers and loathing she had tried to muster.

Draco nodded and continued to what door was labeled as "Head Boy's quarters- Draco Malfoy; 1998-1999." After an hour of quiet mumbles of discontent and sighs, the results of him putting away his possesions sans magic, Draco entered the common room and was surprised to see Hermione still balancing on the windowsill, puffing on a cigarette. He made sure his footsteps were louder than usual, trying to avoid startling her. He knew if he was jumpy after that awful war, she must be so, even worse than he was.

"Excuse me, Granger. May I initiate a conversation with you?" he asked politely.

She turned around and glared at him. "Well you already have," Hermione snapped at him.

"Well you didn't have to reply," he joked softly and chuckled a bit, trying desperately to ease the tension, which seemed to be an impossible feat.

"How's this for a reply?" She replied, jumping off the windowsill into the room, "Why the fuck are you Head Boy? Have the rules of Hogwarts changed? Only fucking psychopaths who murder people for fun are the elite students. Fucking Death Eaters run the school? I thought Hogwarts would have changed after the war. Or have you fucking slithered in on your precious daddy's money? Why the fuck aren't you locked up? Why did you even fucking bother coming back here?!" Hermione was seething. As she crossed her arms over her chest defensively, Draco could see how thin and frail she was. She looked like she hadn't eaten in weeks and when she flicked her cigarette out the window and reached up to close it, her shirt rode up and he tool note of how her hip bones jutted dangerously.

"Have you even eaten properly?" He blurted out without thinking. When her eyes pierced his and burned him with fiery hatred, he quickly realized his mistake.

"Excuse me?" Hermione snarled.

"That was totally inappropriate. I'm sorry. I-"

"You're sorry? You're fucking sorry?! Who the fuck are you trying to kid here?"

"I-"

"Leave me the fuck alone. Sod off, Malfoy." Fuming, she stomped away to her room, slamming the door so hard, a painting on the wall fell and shattered. Draco sighed and walked over to it. "Reparo," he whispered and hung the painting back in its original place. "Unfortunately that went exactly as expected." He walked back to his room, tears brimming in his eyes. His father was as good as dead in Azkaban and he didn't exactly enjoy being able to express his emotions without being ridiculed and beat, but he could admit it was better than the former.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Hermione slumped to the bathroom and knocked lightly.

"I'll be out in a minute, Granger. I promise I won't take long."

"I doubt it," she muttered. "You and all your beauty products." She sat on the couch and took observation of the common room. It was all very lovely. It wasn't catered to either of their houses. It was subtle with its neutral greens, greys, and soft blues. The plush couch was surrounded by comfortable loveseats and recliners, facing the crackling fireplace. Their separate quarters were on opposite sides and in between them, behind the living room area, the bathroom was placed. There were windows on each side of the bathroom, the one on the left, next to her room, being her personally designated smoking area. Near Malfoy's room was the small kitchenette area. Hermione assumed it was already stocked with food, but she hadn't bothered to check. The only table present for them to dine on was the coffee table in front of the couch. Of course, hypothetically, she could eat on the desk provided in her room.

Her room, however, was adorned with shades of ruby red, glittery gold, and soft greys. Her bed was a magnificent four poster, large enough to fit at least three people comfortably. Its canopy was a sheer gold with subtle red sparkles and the comforter was red, matching the pillows which were ruby, trimmed with gold tassels. She had a spiral staircase that lead to an astronomical observatory, filled with books of all genres and varying telescopes. Draco interrupted her from her reverie, clearing his throat. "The bathroom is all yours, Granger."

Hermione nodded, and quickly went into the lavatory. She hadn't quite had the chance to marvel at it yet. The room was obviously charmed to be bigger on the inside. 'Much like the TARDIS," she mused to herself, thinking of her favourite muggle television show. It had a large pool-esque tub, much like the one in the prefects' bathroom. Its counter was long and extensive, with three sinks. Beside it was a vanity counter with plenty of space that displayed their toiletries on either of their respectable sides. She was shocked to see that Malfoy didn't have quite as many beauty products. What really shocked her, however, were the potions that were on the far right side. "Acne, scar healing, weight loss..." A throat cleared behind her.

Hermione jumped. "M-Malfoy. I- what are you doing in here? I said I was using the bathroom!"

"Yeah, and you left the bloody door open while you were marvelling at the bathroom. So nice, isn't it? The vanity mirrors with our names engraved, the self-refilling closet. Oh! And my personal items." His voice was dripping with acidic sarcasm, despite his personal promise to be nice to her.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. They were right there, in the open, and I-"

"And you what? You thought you, Potter, and Weasley would get a nice right laugh out of it?!" He moved quickly to grab his potions from her confused gaze and she flinched. A flash of fear was noticeably bright in her eyes. Immediately, Draco felt bad and without thinking, grasped her hand. "I'm so sorry, Granger. I'm didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't-" she began defensively before Draco interrupted her.

"I was one of the Death Eaters and I get scared easily. It must be worse for you." Tears were brewing in his eyes and he hung his head, sulking out of the room. Hermione followed behind him.

"Why do you have the scar healing potion?" She asked softly, forgetting any animosity between the two.

"Because healing charms only heal wounds. They don't make the scars disappear forever." Draco sat on the couch, trying not to cry in front of her.

"I'm aware of that. I mean, what are the scars from?"

"A- a plethora of sources." He choked out. To both their surprise, Hermione sat next to him and pulled him to her chest when she noticed him crying. She stroked his back softly as sobs started wracking in his chest. She could only pick up a few words he muttered, seemingly unaware he was doing it. "My fault... scars... cuts... disgrace... so beautiful... death... Azkaban..."

"Hey... Draco..." Hermione said soothingly, "why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"But... but you hate me. Why would you care?" That statement seemed to bring back to reality who they were but it strangely didn't change her urge to help him. She hated seeing people who seemed as miserable as she was. She stuttered out a response and Draco cut in. He held her tightly, breathing in her cinnamon scent. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I bullied you for being a muggleborn and called you derogatory names. I'm sorry I also bullied your friends." His sobs started up again. "I-I'm sorry I was a coward and did what my father dictated, instead of being my own person. I'm sorry I fucked up so badly. I never stood up, didn't join the good side while I could. I hate this stupid fucking Dark Mark. I hate my reputation. I hate my father and I fucking hate being a Malfoy. And I'm especially sorry I never told you how beautiful you are." Hermione held him tightly to her body for what felt like hours. When the grandfather clock chimed eight times, she gasped.

"We're going to be late for the feast!" She hurriedly ran to the bathroom, fixing her hair and makeup, brushing her teeth and throwing on her uniform. As she hurried out the door slipping on her robes, Draco noticed the raw red and silver lines that marred her arm. He decided not to say anything for now.

"Why is the feast so important anyways?" He asked, as they slowed down.

"Last night, they put the first years into generic dorms because they haven't been sorted yet and McGonagall hasn't given her Headmistress speech. Remember how the train was delayed later than usual? We arrived so late at school." Draco nodded.

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table and braced herself for a long morning of sorting, speeches, pretending to eat, and escorting first years to the Gryffindor tower.


	4. Chapter 4

GRAPHIC SELF HARM AND RAPE.

Hermione was thankful when the feast was over, but she wasn't looking forward to for once. However, having seniority in the school and being top of the class, half of her classes were free periods, as opposed to Ron, who had done so poorly throughout the years. She was surprised Ron was even at Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley must have given him an ultimatum.

Hermione was trying to avoid him, though. After a summer romance gone awry, mostly to her own fault, she got over him and moved on. "Acting like a slut," she reminded herself. She thought back to the summer which she could hardly remember. She thought vaguely of bottles being picked up and gulped down, grinding on strangers, smoking cigarettes, and crying and hurting herself when the buzz wore off and she had no more bottles to down. The summer dragged on yet also felt too rushed.

Around one, she retreated to her dorm. Her last couple of classes were free periods. She fished out a couple bottles of ice cold firewhiskey, a new pack of cigarettes, and her dragon ashtray. She was halfway through her second bottle when Draco came in, absolutely shocked to see Hermione shitfaced on the couch and smoking. She put out her butt and curled up on the couch, ignorant of his presence, until he spoke up. "Are you okay Hermione?" She nodded her head, slurring a statement before going to her room. An hour later, Draco was interrupted from his reading when he heard a knock on the entrance to the common room. He got up and opened the door a crack, sneering when he saw red hair. "What do you want, Weasel?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but Hermione wanted to see me." Draco shrugged and pointed to her door.

Ron walked into her room and shut it tight behind him, twisting the lock into place. "Muffliato." He saw Hermione asleep on her bed and he walked over, trying to rouse her. Then the scent of alcohol hit him. He grinned and climbed on top of her. "Hermione..." he sang out, sliding his hands under her skirt. He pulled her panties down her legs and stuffed them into her mouth and covering her lips with his hand, which woke her up. She saw him and started crying, trying to scream for help. She bit his hand and he slapped her across the cheek, leaving a bright red handprint. "You're a fucking slut," he sneered, "getting piss drunk and fucking anything that moves. Just like you are now. You're going to pay for being such a slut." She started sobbing and he grabbed the nearest vase and threw it at the wall, shattering above the wall. She spit her knickers out of her mouth and started screaming for help. "Shut the fuck up, whore. No one's going to hear you. No one even cares about you." He ripped off her clothes, buttons going flying, and pulled his cock out of his trousers, forcefully putting it into her mouth, and thrusting mercilessly. She bit down and he yelped, punching her in the face. He turned her over onto her stomach and held her down with one hand. He spit on her ass and painfully thrust into her. She screamed out in pain, her throat sore from screaming and sobbing. She thought of a plan and then faked moans. "You're right... I'm a slut. I'm your slut. Please fuck me against my desk and shove my tits against it painfully." She nearly broke her facade by sobbing again, but he grinnee sadistically and pulled her by her hair and pushed her onto her desk, ramming into her. She faked moans and reached for the lamp that was on her desk. She smashed it over his head and ran for her door.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" he ran after her and she tripped on her way out the door and hurriedly got up, running straight to Draco's door, banging loudly.

"Help! Help me! Draco, please!" She sobbed.

"I told you no one fucking cares!" Ron screamed out, his fist colliding with her face many times. Draco ran out and tackled Ron, getting on top of him and punching him square in the nose until he bled all over the floor and was rendered unconscious. He sent a patronus to the Headmistress and Hermione muttered her gratitude before running into the bathroom, still sobbing.

She turned on the bath with scalding hot water and got in quickly. She summoned soap and scrubbed all over her body. She kept scrubbing even when the soap was gone, trying desperately to get rid of the filth she felt on herself. Her skin was raw and bleeding in spots. She pulled out a razor and worked expertly to free the blades she picked up one and quickly dragged it across her forearm, pleased with the white skin followed by blood and did it again. Before she realized, her forearm was covered in cuts from her elbow to her wrist and she flipped her arm to the underside, slicing from her forearm down to her wrist, forgetting how delicate the skin was. Her bath was turning red which scared her slightly, considering its mammoth size, but then became submissive to possible death.

Draco was pounding on the bathroom door, worried that she hadn't answered when he asked if she was alright. He had heard sobbing and dangerous silence preceded. He bust into the bathroom and saw her laying there, semi-unconscious and he rushed over, picking her into his arms and murmuring healing spells. He looked through his potions, for a blood replenishing potion. He fed it to her and held onto her on the bloody tiled bathroom floor. He started crying, holding her unconscious form. "Please... don't die on me, Hermione. I... I think I'm starting to love you.."


End file.
